


White Like Snow

by AmyDeHP



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-22 00:46:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9574409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmyDeHP/pseuds/AmyDeHP
Summary: Lyanna survives giving birth to Jon, and in order to protect him, he is disguised as Ned and Wylla's bastard.





	

It was a lovely day in Winterfell. _Finally a spring that isn’t false,_ Lyanna thought. She was seated by her window, sewing a doll. Her eyes scanned the courtyard in boredom. She didn’t like dolls that were sewn. She didn’t like sewing them, and she didn’t like playing with them as a child either. She liked dolls that were made of wood better, but she couldn’t carve wood, and this she had to do herself.

Lyanna could hear the clatter of swords and shields below. Benjen was training, Hodor was carrying wood, and she could smell the smoke rising in the air from below. All those smells and sights she had missed so dearly were nothing like the harsh sand and rocks and dry wind that surrounded her tower in Dorne. Even the sight of her new sister-in-law, Lady Catelyn, with whom she had had very little interactions, was a welcome change.

She glanced a young stable boy tell a joke to a girl from the smallfolk that she didn’t know, and the girl laughed bawdily. _Newly hired in the castle, no doubt, and he is trying to get between her legs already._ That brought on a current of memories. All of a sudden she was moving the needle around with unnecessary violence, poking the doll with it again and again as she was sewing it, she almost pricked her finger.

Now that Lyanna remembers with more clarity, she thinks to herself: _Did I ever truly want Rhaegar?_

The prince was, doubtless, the most dashing man in Westeros. She remembered the girls she had met in the tourney and how they were all bedazzled by him, how bitterly some of the more noble and hopeful ones had glanced at his wife and his mad father who rejected them all. And she remembered when she talked to him for the first time, his first phrase to her: “Take off that helmet,” he had said in a voice so haughty and firm she hated it; he was the type of man who knew he would be obeyed and wasn’t used to being refused, and she was tempted not to obey, but he, Arthur Dayne and Oswell Whent had surrounded her from all directions on their mounts. She took off the helmet, and he froze.

_Did I ever truly want him?_

She remembered wanting him for a while. Now that she thinks back, she thinks she never truly wanted _him_. To her, he was only a symbol of what it could mean to be free; free from Father, free from Robert..  the thought of being married scared her, and foolishly, she had thought that Rhaegar had wanted differently. She had thought that Rhaegar had wanted The Knight of The Laughing Tree, not Lyanna Stark’s womb.

She stopped wanting him completely after news of Father and Brandon came. She screamed at him, and he seemed sorry, but too calm. _Always too calm… how come I’m the ice and you’re the fire?_ _Even your hair and eyes are icy, your grace._

He never touched her again, as per her desire, but that didn’t mean she was free to go. And he didn’t have to touch her again anyway; he had gotten what he had wanted, she realized, frightened, as her body changed, week after week, month after month…

When she had gotten to Winterfell, one of the first things she did was burning his letters. Now she regretted it. She wanted to read them again to get the question she was asking herself: _If this were happening to me now, would I be beguiled by him again? Would I be so foolish again?_ She liked to think that she wouldn’t, but who could ever tell? She had liked to think that she was not a fool before.

She now saw the boy head to the kennels and the girl, sneakily, looking around to see if someone was noticing them, and follow him silently. The boy had been tall and blond and comely, she remembered solemnly. _Don’t follow him, girl. Don’t let him do it. Be careful. He will get you pregnant and you will be called a whore, and he a man. Don’t…_

The door was knocked, and she suddenly noticed that she had been clutching her fingers nervously. She forced herself to let go of them. “Come in,” she said.

The door was opened, and her brother entered and locked the door.

_He is Lord Stark now_ , she reminded herself, _and a father of two; an heir and a bastard_. It was still hard to believe; Ned’s long face and his shy facial hair were as youthful-looking as ever. She felt older than him, though she was younger by three years.

“Sister,” he said, “I have news for you.”

“Good or bad? Oh by the gods, Ned, if it’s bad…”

“I don’t know how you would take them.”

Lyanna sighed. “What is it?”

Ned looked down, trying to avoid her eyes. “The king and his council have finished deliberating on your betrothal.”

_The king can go and fuck himself,_ she almost said. This should be important news, shouldn’t it? It would decide her fate; _queen will I be, or the discarded woman violated by a prince?_ But Lyanna only cared about it for one reason: Will she be separated from her brother’s bastard?

“It was… ended. They ruled against it. They say Tywin Lannister played the largest role in ending it, but I know Jon Arryn advised against it as well. Reasonable, I suppose.”

It was made common knowledge after the war that she had lost her maidenhead. Of course; why else does a married man kidnap a younger, pretty girl after he had previously tried to show affection in a stupid public gesture? And of course, such a woman was no fit consort for a king. Lyanna sighed in relief. In some strange twist of fate, this was better for her than being a queen. What a jest.

“Aren’t you… sad?”

“To not share Robert’s bed? Not at all. You know I was never very eager to do it.” She was silent for a second. “I know what he did.”

“What he did?” Ned exclaimed.

“Robert. What he did to Rhaegar’s children. I don’t love the man, Ned, not anymore if I ever did, but what happened to his wife and children…” Lyanna was emotional again. She closed her eyes and shook her head. She had wanted to scream at the news, and couldn’t sleep that night.

“He didn’t do it,” Ned said defensively, “Tywin Lannister did it.”

_Oh, Ned, you poor loyal dog._ “He approved. I know Rhaegar’s children had to die, but not like this. He could have given them milk of the poppy. They were babes, Ned. And Elia… she could have been left alive, returned to Dorne. I wouldn’t have been happy in his bed, knowing that he had approved of this. I wouldn’t have been.”

“Lyanna…” Ned was whispering now, “I know it’s horrible, I know, but this is why it is at the utmost importance that we…”

“I know.” Lyanna cut him off sharply. “Brother, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be so abrasive to you, I…”

She found herself regretting her choice of words and tone. Ned had sacrificed so much for her. He had shamed himself and his wife.

“I know you are upset. I do not wish to disturb you. You need time. I will have the servants prepare tea for you.”

“Thank you. I apologize again.”

Ned smiled at her and left. She was still bothered, perhaps she could detect pity in his smile? Lyanna broke her thoughts by trying to focus on the doll she was sewing.

Hours later, she finished. She got up from the seat and felt her buttocks slightly ache. She stood on her toes and stretched her back, and called on her handmaiden to prepare her to leave her quarters.

She was dressed in a black gown, black gloves and black boots, still in mourning for her father and brother as she had never had the chance in Dorne. She chose a gown with lace and a corset at the front, as she had currently been; the corset to hide the weight she still had left. When she finally left her room, she was a shadow; the perfect figure to silently glide and hide in the grim, grey walls of Winterfell.

When she arrived at her destination, she opened the door without knocking, and didn’t hear the wailing she was expecting to. The wet nurse was there; he was being fed.

“I have brought a gift for my little nephew. Please leave us.” She chided herself secretly on not having remembered to make one for Robb too _. I will, tomorrow. If Lady Catelyn were to know I gifted the bastard before her son…_

The wet nurse left, seemingly unsuspecting. Lyanna waited until she had gone away a good distance, and locked the door. She turned around to look at her son in his crib.

He had begun to fidget and cry, but she left the white wolf doll in his crib and held him to her breast. She cradled him, unlaced her gown, took out her swelled breast and continued feeding him.

“There, my love,” she whispered. “I brought you a gift.”

She looked absent-mindedly at the doll. A white wolf. White, like snow. She turned to her son and observed his face, his brown hair, his complexion… the only thing in him that was more his father than her was his nose. _Thank the gods for that. That’s not noticeable enough to be troublesome._

Lyanna had worried that the story would not be believed; Lord Stark, ever so honorable, fathered a bastard? But they believed it when Ned showed up with Wylla and claimed she was his bastard’s mother. To protect her and save Lady Catelyn the discomfort, he sent her to work for the Mormonts, trusting her loyalty and theirs.

_If Robert were him, he would have killed her. If Rhaegar were him, he would have killed her. My brother is too kind. It will be the death of him._

Before long, Jon had let go of her breast. If the choice were hers, she would have named him Brandon. But it was Ned’s. Jon put his finger in his mouth and was silent, satisfied. She lay him down in the crib again, and put the little doll between his hands. She couldn’t be there for longer than necessary, she knew. She leaned down to whisper in his ear.

“I love you. You are my son. I want you to know that.”

She left a soft kiss on his forehead, and felt his small fingers lightly brush her chin. She laced her gown and left, reminding herself to make another gift for Robb. She loved the precious little thing as well, didn’t she? So she will make one, a different color. Perhaps not white like snow.


End file.
